


Enjoy The Silence

by havisham



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Backstory, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Language Kink, M/M, Otabek and Yuri Are Salt Friends, Regret, Roommates, significant haircuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: There was also a possibility that JJ was planning to sabotage him. That would take more malicious intent than Otabek would usually suspect from him -- JJ was more likely to be thoughtless than anything else -- but it was possible.Otabek and JJ are roommates with issues. Surprisingly, sex does not resolve those issues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a fill for Porn Battle Amnesty, but I missed the deadline ... by a lot. But here's the prompts anyway:  
> Jean-Jacques Leroy/Otabek Altin, friends with benefits, frottage, regrets, handjobs, language kink.

JJ was likely the worst roommate someone like Otabek could have asked for. He was slovenly, used to having his parents pick up after him, and dangerously self-obsessed. He was more likely to admire his reflection on the side of a toaster than notice that the bread was burning. Otabek, who had only been training in Canada for about six months -- before that, he'd been in Detroit, and before that Russia -- thought it might be a case of culture clash. But other Canadians seemed kind and considerate. It was only JJ who was unbearable. 

They had started fucking before they'd moved in together. It had started off as a casual thing -- after an especially tough practice, the skaters had gone off to a party near a local university. For reasons that were still obscure to him, at the end of the night, Otabek had found himself pressed up against JJ in a cramped bathroom stall, their cocks rubbing against each other. He couldn't quite breathe properly; everything came in gasps, cut off moans. He was biting his lips hard enough to imagine the sharp taste of blood. 

Otabek made the mistake of looking up at JJ’s eyes, those unreadable grey-blue eyes that looked back him, luminous and magnetic. Suddenly he was hit with such a level of want that he was left momentarily breathless. 

The corners of JJ’s mouth curled into a small, mischievous smile. “I'm looking for a roommate,” he said, his hands still on Otabek’s cock. “Would you be interested?” 

Otabek had been sharing a basement unit with four other skaters, but the lease was running out. He nodded, but in the dark it seemed like it wasn't enough. JJ hadn't moved. 

“OK,” Otabek said instead, and JJ surged forward and kissed him. 

*

Otabek was studying for English class when JJ came in, bringing in the cold with him. He was on the phone, speaking in rapid fire French. There was a teasing smile on his face, like he was talking to a girl. He probably was, given the sickening kissing noises he made before he hung up. Otabek expected him to go to his room like he did most nights, but JJ threw himself on the couch, making Otabek move his legs out of the way.

“What are you studying?” 

Otabek grunted, his eyes not leaving the page. JJ wriggled his fingers in front of him. 

“English,” Otabek said, going back to his reading -- or trying to. He could feel the weight of JJ’s stare. 

“You should learn French instead,” JJ said seriously, still looking at him. 

Otabek met his gaze at last. “I need to know something that’s useful.” 

JJ sneered at him. “Fucker.” 

Otabek considered this. “What’s that in French?” 

JJ told him. 

(Then he showed him.) 

*

What Otabek hadn’t counted on was that rooming with JJ meant that he would also, more often than not, be sharing spaces with various other Leroys, all of whom lived either in, or close to, Montreal and who thought nothing of dropping by to see how their pride and joy was getting along. 

The first time it happened, Otabek had staggered into the kitchen on a Saturday morning, clad only in his boxers, only to be confronted with the sight of breakfast being prepared by JJ’s mother, Nathalie, his sister, Gabrielle, and his aunt whose name he wasn’t able to catch in the flurry of activity that followed. 

Nathalie looked him up and down and began quizzing him about his training regime, while Gabrielle tried to recruit him into chopping onions for the quiche. 

“Maybe after I get some pants on,” he suggested weakly. 

“I don’t mind,” said JJ’s aunt, with a giggle. 

“Oh Sisi, you’re _bad_ ,” Nathalie said, going back to frying bacon. “Though Alain had an ass like that when he was still playing hockey and I never complained --” 

“Maman, stop,” Gabrielle said. “Look how he’s blushing!” 

Then JJ swanned in, ready to be adored, and saved Otabek from having to defend himself. He fled back to his room to dress and to compose himself. 

* 

All of Otabek’s family were either back in Kazakhstan or scattered throughout the world. It was vaguely comforting to be in the orbit of a family’s affections once again, to eat food that someone had prepared with love and care, to receive a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the back. For a moment, the loneliness stopped.

But that didn’t take away the fact that he and JJ were rivals; a cut above the rest of their rink mates, but their skills on par with each other. JJ had the flash and glamour too, but he worked hard -- and he tried to _hide_ it, which bewildered Otabek more than anything else about him. 

Otabek worked hard too. It was the only way he could work. He knew his own limitations better than anyone else, and kept fighting them. Doggedly. He would be the first one at the rink when it opened, the last to leave. 

One night Otabek was coming out of the rink, his skating bag heavy on his shoulder, when he heard someone shout his name. It was JJ, running toward him in high speed. He grabbed Otabek’s arm and began physically pull him down to a waiting taxi. 

“My band is playing!” JJ shouted in Otabek’s ear. “You have to hear them!” 

“I need to eat something,” Otabek said, reluctantly. His stomach growled just then, to prove his point. 

“I’ll treat you after,” JJ said, laughing, and kissed him. A shock went through Otabek and he shivered, the cold winter night touching him for the first time. He followed JJ to the warmth of the cab. They didn’t speak on the way, both of them hiding behind their phones. 

After dropping off Otabek’s gear at the apartment, they went to an old cabaret bar with wooden floors that squeaked and groaned as they walked on them. The music was loud and Otabek could make out only fifty percent of the lyrics. Sometime between the first set and the second, JJ jumped onto the stage and wrestled away the microphone from the lead singer and began to sing. 

It was very embarrassing to watch, even if the audience seemed to like it. Only Otabek seemed to mind -- the other singer had only hopped off the stage and got a beer. JJ wasn’t a terrible singer, but the song he sung was all about him, it felt more mastubatory than anything else. 

Nonetheless, Otabek clapped politely at the end of it. 

*

By the time they came home, they were drunk and supporting each other. JJ, it turned out, was an emotional drunk. “Everyone always tells me, no, JJ, you can’t do that. Can’t have that. Not allowed. And all I ask is _why?_ ”

He panted humidly into Otabek’s ear as Otabek fumbled with the lock.

They walked into the apartment only to immediately trip over the pile of gear in front of the door. JJ shouldn’t be as heavy as he felt, pressed up against him. JJ’s hands tangled in Otabek’s hair. “You should get an undercut,” he muttered. “I can give you one.” 

“You’re drunk.” Otabek had to point that out. 

JJ rolled his eyes. “I mean later. But I probably could do it now. Feel my hands.” He put one of his hands on Otabek’s stomach and muttered, “See? Steady.” 

Otabek watched as the hand slipped down, under the waistband of his pants. He pushed them down himself, taking out his cock. JJ’s hand closed around the length of Otabek’s cock and he jerked him off, movements deliberate and not hesitating at all. 

“Steady,” Otabek agreed, after he came. 

*

Even though Otabek forgot JJ’s offer, JJ did not. A week later he knocked on Otabek’s door, and once it was opened, he waved a hair clipper in front of his face. “C’mon, I got everything ready.” 

“For what?” Otabek said blankly. 

“Your undercut,” JJ said, as if it was obvious. 

Otabek closed the door on him. JJ kept knocking until Otabek opened it again.

“If you don't like it -- and you definitely will -- I'll pay a barber to fix it. Promise.” 

Otabek actually considered this. His hair was just his hair. He took care of it as he did other aspects of his appearance. It was as much a part of the duties as a skater as his caring for his gear or practicing his jumps. He'd had the same hair for as long he could remember. It served. 

There was also a possibility that JJ was planning to sabotage him. That would take more malicious intent than Otabek would usually suspect from him -- JJ was more likely to be thoughtless than anything else -- but it was possible. 

Sensing his doubt, JJ leaned in, his hand grazing the nape of Otabek’s neck. “C’mon,” he said softly. “I'll make it good for you.” 

Otabek was weak and he was curious, and so let himself be dragged to the bathroom, where JJ had set up an impromptu barber shop. Otabek sat on a stool in the middle the bathtub and waited, arms crossed over his chest. JJ came over with the clippers and a comb and sat on the edge of the tub, his legs braced on either side of Otabek. 

The clipper buzzed to life and after a few moments Otabek allowed himself to relax. JJ’s hands were strong but sure, he knew what he was doing. The time they spent in that bathtub was the quietest Otabek had ever spent with JJ. 

When he was finished, JJ dusted off Otabek’s shoulders and hauled him up and brought him to the mirror. Otabek leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The tension left him slowly as he saw that he looked good, his dark hair taking on newer dimensions that hadn’t been there before. 

“You should stop skating and become a barber,” Otabek said. 

JJ laughed. “My grandfather was one. Fifty-one years, cutting and shaving until his hands shook too much to do it. I don’t want that life.” 

Otabek watched from the corner of his eye. “We look alike.” It wasn’t quite true, and he didn’t know why he said it, except JJ’s eyes brightened and he nodded, leaning against him. 

“That’s why I like fucking you, it’s better than a mirror,” JJ said, his smirk wavering for a moment when Otabek turned on him and pushed him to the floor. They grappled for a moment, JJ’s hands gripping Otabek’s hips and urging him forward. 

They ended up fucking in the hallway outside of the bathroom, using spit and semen to smooth the way. JJ panted and moaned and cursed in a steady stream of French, words that sounded dirty even if Otabek couldn’t understand them. JJ was hot and tight and sweet around him and Otabek had only thrust into him a few time when he felt ready to come.

It was quiet, except the sound of their loud breathing -- at least, it was until one of the lights in the hallway flicked on and a light, feminine voice called JJ’s name. 

“Surprise, JJ! We’ve brought your favorite, darling--” Maxine, JJ’s current girlfriend, swung open the door and gasped loudly. Behind her, Otabek saw JJ’s parents peer curiously over her shoulder. 

JJ pushed Otabek off him and scrambled to get dressed. “Maman, un moment-- Close the _fucking_ door, Maxine!” 

Otabek was in no hurry. He sat on the floor and laughed himself sick instead. 

* 

Six months later, Otabek was looking glumly into his empty champagne flute. He’d failed to make it to the Grand Prix Final in Sochi and was fucking miserable about it. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he felt like he might start now. As if that wasn’t enough, he heard someone calling his name. He pretended not to hear, but JJ wasn’t one to take complete lack of interest for an answer. 

“Otabek! Come here and meet Isabella,” he said, pushing Otabek into her. Isabella looked at him, amused and pretty and perfect. Otabek muttered a greeting and she laughed, showing her pearly white teeth. 

“Stay here, I’ll get you a drink,” JJ said to her, practically cooing. He didn’t let go of Otabek’s arm as they moved toward the banquet table. 

“I wanted to thank you,” JJ said suddenly. 

“For what?” Otabek said. He wanted to ruin the lines of his suit by shoving his hands into his pocket, but he knew other people were watching. He hadn’t talked to JJ for months, not since he’d moved out, and hadn’t felt the need to.. 

“You gave me something I needed,” JJ said simply, with a small smile. “But I don’t need it anymore.” 

Otabek stared at him in mute disbelief. 

*

A year later, Otabek was at the Grand Prix Final banquet, sitting next to Yuri in complete silence. Their eyes were glued to their phones and they were exchanging messages at a finger-breaking pace. Yuri snorted furiously as he spotted JJ coming into the hall, Isabella on his arm, delivering a stream of JJ-related invectives to Otabek. 

Otabek caught JJ’s eyes and lifted a champagne flute in greeting.

_I don’t need it anymore._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, nightcenturymountain, for betaing! All remaining mistakes & etc. 
> 
> Title from Depeche Mode. I'm willing to bet that DJ Altin (or as I like to think of him, DJ Alt.In) has remixed a song or two from them. New Wave/New Romanticism speaks to his dark moody soul. (He and Georgi should hang. #seasontwogoals)


End file.
